tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62118991923289108612014-08-31T20:29:29.864-07:00clottedMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.comBlogger124125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-53068548869889242802010-11-28T18:39:00.000-08:002010-11-28T18:48:57.716-08:00Sometimes (some times) I fall into a black and dark hole and flail around for what feels like a very long time. I don't understand why I become so suddenly and uncontrollably helpless. Make it stop said the Peter Pan collar.Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-30027374495947182682010-10-31T00:25:00.000-07:002010-10-31T00:28:30.250-07:00chronic dearth of beautiful things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/TM0aBNgNT7I/AAAAAAAAAr8/zdKqa3arTPE/s1600/john+g%3F.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/TM0aBNgNT7I/AAAAAAAAAr8/zdKqa3arTPE/s400/john+g%3F.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534108125215150002" /></a><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/TM0aAw2tq7I/AAAAAAAAAr0/rM5lB-_qisQ/s400/inspiro+.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534108117524917170" /><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/TM0aA9nKcwI/AAAAAAAAArs/WnKISP-O3yI/s400/heart+shaped+blouse.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534108120949355266" />Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-77567186954768855842010-10-31T00:24:00.000-07:002010-10-31T00:53:22.028-07:00i hate social studies<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 36.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Epicureanism is a philosophy born of the Greek Epicurus (341-270 B.C.). Epicureans believe in materialism and hedonism to solve problems. According to Epicurus, no pain existed outside of bodily discomfort. Consequently, the absence of physical pain was equated with pure happiness. He also advocated good heartedness and a virtuous lifestyle. Today, people associate Epicureanism with a love of good food and drink. A <i>true</i> study of the philosophy is still important today, however, because Epicurus preached materialism in a compelling way.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 24.0px; font: 36.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 42.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 24.0px; font: 36.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 42.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 24.0px; font: 27.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 31.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 24.0px; font: 36.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 42.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-17436546218232357242009-10-06T16:30:00.000-07:002009-10-06T16:51:39.380-07:00shame - the underground man -<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsvUDkzBApI/AAAAAAAAArQ/Hhu4H6nP2y4/s1600-h/00430m.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsvUDkzBApI/AAAAAAAAArQ/Hhu4H6nP2y4/s400/00430m.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389634536961278610" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsvUDb338_I/AAAAAAAAArI/PgzN8Zg40wE/s1600-h/00530m.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsvUDb338_I/AAAAAAAAArI/PgzN8Zg40wE/s400/00530m.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389634534565737458" /></a>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-65024796812562664062009-10-06T16:00:00.000-07:002009-10-06T16:45:17.078-07:00this was last tuesday, a day just as sad/strange/confusing/not getting things right/drugs drugs cryingMy dad and I had a good talk for the first time, maybe. Perhaps he is empathetic after all. Now I'm tired.Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-9282587430790654462009-09-30T11:56:00.001-07:002009-09-30T12:07:45.268-07:00mmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrqjwAh3I/AAAAAAAAAq4/PAWJlSJwA1M/s1600-h/tumblr_koiyirb2Uy1qzg3j4o1_500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrqjwAh3I/AAAAAAAAAq4/PAWJlSJwA1M/s400/tumblr_koiyirb2Uy1qzg3j4o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387338326904702834" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrqDWU3yI/AAAAAAAAAqw/ZVWxUhvshik/s1600-h/pU1p3ehaPr24yl0yG7pxZbQVo1_400.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrqDWU3yI/AAAAAAAAAqw/ZVWxUhvshik/s400/pU1p3ehaPr24yl0yG7pxZbQVo1_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387338318207049506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrp0Vuk0I/AAAAAAAAAqo/RzFcgmG9Xhg/s1600-h/CWlRCOud1ptfv8qnmoXdvnHHo1_500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrp0Vuk0I/AAAAAAAAAqo/RzFcgmG9Xhg/s400/CWlRCOud1ptfv8qnmoXdvnHHo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387338314178007874" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrpvYXfjI/AAAAAAAAAqg/F_sJhuBPWYU/s1600-h/CWlRCOud1p929pzbXQp0jHKYo1_500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrpvYXfjI/AAAAAAAAAqg/F_sJhuBPWYU/s400/CWlRCOud1p929pzbXQp0jHKYo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387338312846900786" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrozKCoNI/AAAAAAAAAqY/-QSCgzIfNR0/s1600-h/CWlRCOud1oyz466cAOFW8vHAo1_500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SsOrozKCoNI/AAAAAAAAAqY/-QSCgzIfNR0/s400/CWlRCOud1oyz466cAOFW8vHAo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387338296680685778" /></a><br />things and people are funny, but now i want to find out more about them. peeking out over the top of the barrel, or what was that one? yup yup<div>P.S. Thank you to everyone who I love so much.</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-50163995656104593292009-09-26T20:55:00.000-07:002009-09-26T20:56:03.892-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I really truly think I am going crazy, and I really truly like it.</span>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-26330517745686667442009-09-23T19:28:00.001-07:002009-09-23T19:29:32.888-07:00so many tiny victories and defeats<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SrrZhB4Nh0I/AAAAAAAAAqQ/fPgSKWOtfbU/s1600-h/04.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SrrZhB4Nh0I/AAAAAAAAAqQ/fPgSKWOtfbU/s400/04.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384855465937962818" /></a>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-58819972037583280682009-09-22T17:36:00.000-07:002009-09-22T20:24:50.555-07:00<div><br /></div>I smelled bad yesterday because John wanted to walk through the sewage stream on the way home from burgers and milkshakes. At the library the homeless lady sitting next to me smelled bad too, and let out a deep throated burp as she sat down.<div><br /></div><div>"You guys are so dense"</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-80106795469173120632009-09-20T20:41:00.000-07:002009-09-20T20:46:25.489-07:00Mortimer Adler"There are some human problems, after all, that have no solution. There are some relationships, both among human beings and between human beings and the nonhuman world, about which no one can have the last word. This is true not only of science and philosophy, where it is obvious that final understanding about nature and its laws, and about being and becoming, has not been achieved by anyone and never will be; it is also true of such familiar and everyday matters as the relation between men and women, or parents and children, or man and God. These are matters about which you cannot think too much, or too well. The greatest books can help you think better about them, because they were written by men and women who thought better than other people about them."Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-87876605884351371512009-08-19T20:50:00.000-07:002009-08-26T21:41:25.068-07:00why why why what my brother's in school here so I don't know what's going on. This house is too hot for clothes and only lemon popsicles go down right<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SozIVSZntUI/AAAAAAAAAp4/JjcD59f_lO0/s1600-h/8b1685ea25b0be166fe06875ae0d03f1bade4987_m.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SozIVSZntUI/AAAAAAAAAp4/JjcD59f_lO0/s400/8b1685ea25b0be166fe06875ae0d03f1bade4987_m.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371888723588265282" /> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SozIU0KLCnI/AAAAAAAAApw/lmKsbAEu9M8/s1600-h/6a00d8345282b769e201157160e37b970c-500wi.jpg"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SozIU0KLCnI/AAAAAAAAApw/lmKsbAEu9M8/s400/6a00d8345282b769e201157160e37b970c-500wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371888715470408306" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 400px; " /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SozInjPD6mI/AAAAAAAAAqA/mdQdwQdiGnw/s1600-h/9LnMWjCj4jwntjrlxAa8a5dlo1_500.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SozInjPD6mI/AAAAAAAAAqA/mdQdwQdiGnw/s400/9LnMWjCj4jwntjrlxAa8a5dlo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371889037345024610" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></a>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-10667473364281127042009-08-18T19:15:00.000-07:002009-08-18T21:21:54.186-07:00<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I found this letter on my floor this morning. My teacher sent it around the end of the school year, and I had forgotten, but her words are so soothing and kind. I've shared a similar story before, but this is further evidence of her grace.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">You have been in my thoughts and prayers so much this year because I have delighted in teaching you and I have felt a special kinship with you. During the last weeks, as I have sensed the challenges you have faced with relationships, I have not said much-but I have prayed much.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Know that I believe in you and have great confidence that you will find fulfillment. The inner resources I catch glimpses of in you as I get to know you better are a gift from God, and I know you have the ability to bless many people (I am one of them!).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">"The pursuit of truth in the company of friends" is a motto that I especially associate with you, my dear young friend.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-872190517398794912009-08-18T19:00:00.000-07:002009-08-18T21:20:55.705-07:00<div><br /></div>I checked out a book of Truman Capote's essays from the library. I didn't want to read them, so I don't know what I was thinking, but I flipped through it just now. The book opened to an essay, a conversation with Marilyn Monroe. She was Truman's date to Constance Collier's funeral. I kind of vaguely remember reading in an old biography that Marilyn and Constance were lesbian lovers. Marilyn Monroe seemed to be everyone's lover, lesbian or otherwise, so maybe it was somebody else. <div>So, that's all.</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-32262087243641264972009-08-05T20:40:00.000-07:002009-08-05T21:45:24.932-07:00<div><br /></div>I've hatched a marvelous plan where I'll get a train ticket. I'll take the train around, sleeping during the day, and at night perusing a twenty four hour CVS. And I will steal a bike and ride around wherever I have landed, bonus if there is a river and I can pedal beside it. I will carry Old Spice and lipstick with me, and wear binoculars around my neck. That's all I need. Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-49460585615126009092009-08-02T19:23:00.001-07:002009-08-02T19:35:33.601-07:00<div><br /></div>I, uh, made a tumblr? <a href="http://houseandhome.tumblr.com/">Clickety click</a> on over if you'd like. <div><br /></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-81343935631329731522009-07-27T21:30:00.000-07:002009-07-27T21:31:40.479-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Sm5-8W2_sCI/AAAAAAAAApQ/MojfGMWn5Ng/s1600-h/D1Tqm2eCpqe3uju4qJYxlfQoo1_400.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Sm5-8W2_sCI/AAAAAAAAApQ/MojfGMWn5Ng/s400/D1Tqm2eCpqe3uju4qJYxlfQoo1_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363363781638336546" /></a><br /><div>P.S. Being thirteen is awkward.</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-82960431421452153262009-07-23T23:23:00.000-07:002009-07-23T23:29:41.846-07:00<div><br /></div>Being alone is so easy, but maybe not rewarding. Goal: be nice so people want to be with you.<div>Other goals:</div><div>wear earrings</div><div>don't let your pensive expression be mistaken as hostile and angry thereby alienating yourself even from random passersby<br /></div><div>drink iced tea</div><div>do things you know will make you happy</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-3033455225931616942009-07-18T21:48:00.000-07:002009-07-18T23:29:42.122-07:00<div><br /></div>Tonight mostly lovely bocce ball, bikes to the Festival, home movies, blacksmithing lady, Snood happened. Now, possibly, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Twelve Rounds</span> (John Cena, ftw (is this is an appropriate time to use such an abbreviation? I have gathered it shortens "for the win", or "fuck the world" depending, but...)). hahahaha.<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SmKojS7_q5I/AAAAAAAAApI/Wk5OUUWqNQI/s1600-h/3545569764_115e873065.jpg"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SmKojS7_q5I/AAAAAAAAApI/Wk5OUUWqNQI/s400/3545569764_115e873065.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360031830856674194" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><div>Fires are so enchanting. </div><div>(Photo, flickr)</div></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-12071520052607589562009-07-15T22:16:00.000-07:002009-07-15T22:18:49.913-07:00the tiny ship was tossed<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Sl636ANIwZI/AAAAAAAAApA/QyjAYtQv3o0/s1600-h/cast-of-gilligans-island-thumb-470x294-2260.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Sl636ANIwZI/AAAAAAAAApA/QyjAYtQv3o0/s400/cast-of-gilligans-island-thumb-470x294-2260.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358922813732864402" /></a><div>gilligan's island</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-63287834193569752172009-07-12T09:57:00.000-07:002009-07-12T23:05:56.189-07:00<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sitting on a rollout bed next to shelves and holiday decorations in the basement of my Grandpa's house. I just ate another Hershey's Bar, and all the food is making me feel bad. My cousins are here from Sydney and my grandpa seems less lonely, but being in the house, sleeping in the bed where my grandma died two years ago must affect him. Just being here for a week is a strain, in that respect.<br /></div><div>Minnesota is kind. All nineteen of us went to a Twins game on Friday. A family friend got an announcement on the scoreboard and it said welcome love Grandpa Bruce. Also, lakes are great.</div><div>Back on Prozac now.</div><div><br /></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-83942258297790129392009-07-04T12:37:00.000-07:002009-07-04T19:19:21.596-07:00<div><br /></div>I love America. Because I don't pay taxes, perhaps, or just don't know any better.<div>I love McDonald's and picnics.</div><div>Spam</div><div>Nordstrom's</div><div>cotton</div><div>General Tso's chicken</div><div>National Geographic calendars </div><div><div>grandstands</div><div>dancing</div></div><div>marble floors</div><div>philanthropy </div><div>My brother bought pants that were stitched from an old American flag, and I love wearing them. </div><div><br /></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-20397145904713265082009-06-28T11:19:00.000-07:002009-06-30T13:20:32.192-07:00she is very captivating/beautiful people<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Ske0lLxxsSI/AAAAAAAAAng/J5kF_teTnes/s1600-h/soMnc5oShnm0mmbwDhPN5wmjo1_500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 379px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Ske0lLxxsSI/AAAAAAAAAng/J5kF_teTnes/s400/soMnc5oShnm0mmbwDhPN5wmjo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352445233062850850" /></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpwUqZf_PI/AAAAAAAAAnw/kDHiA1ceYxA/s1600-h/aOFNtGJX9g5rxnppso4nk3weo1_500.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpwUqZf_PI/AAAAAAAAAnw/kDHiA1ceYxA/s400/aOFNtGJX9g5rxnppso4nk3weo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353214607364193522" style="cursor: pointer; width: 336px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxqrZoZYI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/sWOIYZGgPC8/s1600-h/marion-cotillard-oscars-2008-08.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxqrZoZYI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/sWOIYZGgPC8/s400/marion-cotillard-oscars-2008-08.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353216085101929858" style="cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxBSyKcfI/AAAAAAAAAoA/_UnLPK_ReIg/s1600-h/pU1p3ehaPco2nmwqtkBt3Iwz_400.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxBSyKcfI/AAAAAAAAAoA/_UnLPK_ReIg/s400/pU1p3ehaPco2nmwqtkBt3Iwz_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353215374119301618" style="cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxB4mTxaI/AAAAAAAAAoI/RhLjSGPwVtg/s1600-h/record2010.23c.gif"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxB4mTxaI/AAAAAAAAAoI/RhLjSGPwVtg/s400/record2010.23c.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353215384270128546" style="cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 397px; " /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxBWXeAuI/AAAAAAAAAn4/msabVTYV5Ds/s1600-h/Minnie-Driver_0.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkpxBWXeAuI/AAAAAAAAAn4/msabVTYV5Ds/s400/Minnie-Driver_0.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353215375081079522" style="cursor: pointer; width: 339px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Skps0NHXlYI/AAAAAAAAAno/L0k0Jodlskw/s1600-h/OTfHBSsqEp29jbkoaaHbobAHo1_500.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/Skps0NHXlYI/AAAAAAAAAno/L0k0Jodlskw/s400/OTfHBSsqEp29jbkoaaHbobAHo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353210751212819842" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 290px; " /></a><br /></div><div>Angelina Jolie, Elizabeth Taylor, Marion Cotillard, Jessica Biel and Scarlett Johansson, Annie Dillard (I haven't read any of her work, but I hope to), Minnie Driver (Goodwill Hunting!), Marilyn Monroe</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-6267488096993254252009-06-20T20:26:00.000-07:002009-07-03T21:10:32.081-07:00I bought three coloring books today: Victorian houses, dragons, famous pirates.<div>Night time is so appealing: lightning bugs, moonshine, soft edges. I like that light is concentrated to bulbs, not an unforgiving flood. I've been staying up until 5 am, sleeping until noon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, these long posts are fun. The comments you all left on the last one were fantastic, thank you!</div><div>Summer is for wandering. The only poem I have ever written and loved is a six word description of last summer, done for school on the first day back. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Wondering and wandering, the same places.</div><div>I wrote it about Minnesota, where I'll be going on the sixth for a long time. My grandfather lives there, not my grandmother anymore, and so does (:) Mall of America, 10,000 lakes - especially the pavilion and owl tree one, custard, casseroles, the school playground, a pretty front porch, the state fair, Garrison Keillor. Yay.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did not consider him to be any kind of genius. I considered him deeply lacking in the area that mattered most in life. Star quality.</div><div>Augusten Burroughs</div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-84096305164810064922009-06-14T12:18:00.000-07:002009-06-22T19:28:41.935-07:00<div><br /></div>After this is published I will change the settings so this will fill the whole page, and mark the beginning of summer/sunshine/different posts. Maybe I'll just add to this one post for a few days, editing spots where I see fit.<div>I want to share my favorite music because I know there is power in that medium, though I don't feel moved in the same way or to the degree that it appears some, many people do. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here goes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I play the cello, as I've shared before, and though I don't have the patience or drive to play at a very high level, I love the sound more than any other instrument. After school, when there are too many voices knocking around, I listen to cello music to calm me down.</div><div><span><span></span></span><br /></div><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR9lCa23kzo&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR9lCa23kzo&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><div><br /></div><div>I scratched through the Prelude of the First Suite for my first performance three years ago. I generally listen to Janos Starker's recording, but this was a better video.</div><div>See also: </div><div>Dvorak Cello Concerto in B Minor</div><div>Rachmaninoff's lovely lyrical pieces (I love the Vocalise)</div><div>Dance of the Elves</div><div>Bachianos Brasileiras No. 1, Fugue</div><div><br /></div><div>On lonely, tired nights I sit with my computer and watch Ludacris music videos, because my mind doesn't process intelligent music well when it is trying to process other things, which it usually is. I went through a brief Snoop Dogg phase last year, I would watch His Fatherhood and try to get around the parental controls on my parents' computer so as to watch footage from the Up in Smoke Tour. A fan commented on one of these youtube videos and claimed he would give his right testicle to have been able to go to one of those shows. If there is a female equivalent to this statement, at the time I'm sure I would have jumped on it. Now I have my own laptop, and no parental controls, but my craze is, thankfully, over.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1mCE4x51aTA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1mCE4x51aTA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkA9m7NFqMI/AAAAAAAAAnY/UmIKaagcTM4/s1600-h/ludacris1.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SkA9m7NFqMI/AAAAAAAAAnY/UmIKaagcTM4/s400/ludacris1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350344096253061314" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div>So, so, so, so wrong. But, yet, so right.</div><div>See also:</div><div>Splash Waterfalls</div><div>Get Back</div><div><br /></div><div>I have happy toddler memories of seeing the Beach Boys live, listening to Buddy Holly and The Crickets, memorizing every line to The Music Man soundtrack we kept on the floor of my mom's lilac mini van. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjVeERPT48I/AAAAAAAAAmI/jIgIOcycZ0I/s1600-h/musicman_l.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjVeERPT48I/AAAAAAAAAmI/jIgIOcycZ0I/s400/musicman_l.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347283560012440514" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I would chant Marian Madame Librarian (along with the Shakespeare song Mrs. Barratt my music teacher taught the class for Mother's Day) before bed as a sort of cool down ritual for the day. </div><div><div>Now that I think about it, the entertainment my parents provided when I was young has a very special resonance for me.</div><div>Music: </div><div>Revival in Belfast (late night drives, using the steering wheel as a drum)</div><div>Alison Krauss </div><div>Bruce Springsteen (poster, toothache in his ear (Dan Tucker???))</div><div>Beatles (1 red cd case)</div><div>Nightingale, Handel's Messiah in the old church </div><div>Elton John</div><div><br /></div><div>Books:</div><div>Sir Gibbie</div><div>All-of-a-Kind Family</div><div>Betsy-Tacy</div><div>Little Maid books</div><div>Chronicles of Narnia</div><div>Hobbit</div><div>Little House series</div><div>Gone Away Lake</div><div>Rowing to Latitude, Swimming to Antarctica (why did he choose these for me?)</div><div>Dido and Pa</div><div>Kristin Lavransdatter</div><div><br /></div><div>Remember this one?</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjVtx_mv0-I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/X7aV0oxbV3U/s1600-h/AMADEUS.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjVtx_mv0-I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/X7aV0oxbV3U/s400/AMADEUS.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347300838227301346" style="cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You know I love you.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjVx-mZkH_I/AAAAAAAAAmY/Vfi6vnKaU9g/s1600-h/4ec10ed1de734ebdbaac0e8bf0fbca59.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjVx-mZkH_I/AAAAAAAAAmY/Vfi6vnKaU9g/s400/4ec10ed1de734ebdbaac0e8bf0fbca59.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347305452845932530" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>To Be Continued...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Part 2</div><div><br /></div><div>I shared that music houses memories for me, but the images tied to different songs have an even stronger and sharper voice. A video or album art crowds my head, just as songs with lyrics are too much after a long day, and I can never sleep after watching television. I have a hard time appreciating art museums, for that matter, because the pieces run together into a jumble and a blur. </div><div>I try to post pictures, images that have meaning to me and are not overwhelming, because then the words have less and less validity. Maybe that's why I don't have the heart for music that some do: the product is too much more than just the sound or the emotion.</div><div><br /></div><div>To be continued, once again</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjfTnzVxbrI/AAAAAAAAAmg/ue_6KdmpDdY/s1600-h/UcRGPQd0Pjkgszqhf0VTp4zUo1_400.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Oey5iCwLc0Y/SjfTnzVxbrI/AAAAAAAAAmg/ue_6KdmpDdY/s400/UcRGPQd0Pjkgszqhf0VTp4zUo1_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347975763275640498" style="cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 268px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I love going to ballets because the chairs are comfortable, but the atmosphere isn't as sinister as the inside a movie theater can feel. My parents bought season tickets for the Washington Ballet when they used to put on classical ballets more often and it was feasible to spend sixty dollars per ticket. During Intermission my mom bought m&amp;ms and brought me down to the front row to peer down into the orchestra pit. Nutcracker was the best production, but Peter Pan was when we met the man who had a cold like me and the cast shouted "Pirates!", which made me bounce.</div></div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211899192328910861.post-52021394664485690772009-06-12T21:53:00.000-07:002009-06-13T21:46:29.135-07:00<div>I wrote this last night.</div><div><br /></div>Since a power outage two days ago, the digital clock in my bedroom has been flashing at 4:17. I am cocooned in my bed, with a constant hour and my nails long, because I don't have so much anxiety now. Reading books with no context and old <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Elle</span> magazine articles, and I really just feel so good, hungry, carbonated, air conditioned, because I'm trying to cut out ands and not sound like a broken record or a 4:17 power outaged clock. <div><br /></div><div>After reading over posts from the beginning of my blog I feel sad and pathetic. Maybe my writing should only be read once.</div><div>Tomorrow I want to make a long, long post. Maybe about the music I listen to, as after a few anxious tweets I feel ok being exposed. </div>Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14799887938626459605noreply@blogger.com2